


i’m falling to pieces (but i need this)

by wolfwalkerspirit



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Aftermath of Sodden, Character Study, F/M, Light Angst, Light Hurt/Comfort, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-10
Updated: 2020-01-10
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:07:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22194547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolfwalkerspirit/pseuds/wolfwalkerspirit
Summary: “For a long time, Yennefer wasn’t aware of anything more than the rain. Consciousness flitted to and from her like a butterfly, cautious and flighty, eager to hurry off at the slightest upset. Flashes and glimpses came from time to time, of crystal droplets falling and splashing, set in the inky backdrop of a world scorched by fire. The roaring thunder sometimes echoed in her ears, dulling the patter of water against softening earth. Or occasionally, it was the cold, the sluice of rain through her hair, off her skin, that broke through to dimmed awareness.“orYennefer deals with the aftermath of Sodden.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 11
Kudos: 212





	i’m falling to pieces (but i need this)

Rain put out the fires at Sodden, some odd number of hours after they razed the landscape. First a solemn drizzle, hardly enough to do anything more than feel melancholy in the company of a grey sky. Then what had began as little more than mist turned slowly to great torrents that doused the hissing, flickering flames. Even those tricky tongues and tendrils that took shelter under sprawling alders and evergreens eventually paled and died away under the pressures of the wind and rain. The world became something of grey and black and violet, all blurred together where stormy sky filled with haze and smoke met twilight air and charred earth. 

The rain, too, washed away the nauseating scent of crisped flesh, turned to ash and ember, and replaced it with something cleaner, fresher. While hints of woodsmoke still lingered, doused, muddy earth and lush greenery from farther off took the place of the coppered tang of blood. Desperation, devastation, and death were not scents easy on the lungs or the stomach. Even still, melancholy and gloom were easier to handle, in the new start of falling rain. 

For a long time, Yennefer wasn’t aware of anything more than the rain. Consciousness flitted to and from her like a butterfly, cautious and flighty, eager to hurry off at the slightest upset. Flashes and glimpses came from time to time, of crystal droplets falling and splashing, set in the inky backdrop of a world scorched by fire. The roaring thunder sometimes echoed in her ears, dulling the patter of water against softening earth. Or occasionally, it was the cold, the sluice of rain through her hair, off her skin, that broke through to dimmed awareness. 

It was only after the storm had raged itself to nothing, spent its chaos, that she really came back to herself. The hilltop was unforgiving, every stone and stick and thorn long since dug uncomfortably into her skin. Though, what pulled her attention more was the raw, crackled burn in her fingertips, the headache embedded deep in her skull, pounding behind her eyes. It seemed easier to curl up tight, to forget the world a while longer and slip back into a shallow darkness breeched only by rainfall and the quiet sensation of time falling away like sand through her fingers. 

Instead, Yennefer rose to her knees, swaying, and took stock of the damage. Murky memories surfaced again, and everything to the moment she collapsed became clear enough. The hillside beneath her was blackened, as were her fingertips, where the fire had licked and scorched as the last of her control slipped away. She should have counted herself lucky not to have been consumed by the raging flame left behind. But, by whatever luck or will, she hadn’t been turned to one blackened corpse among the sea of melted, nameless faces. 

Every limb felt leaden as she rose to her feet, and for the first time in a very long time, she had not the slightest inkling of where to go or what to do. Especially given how quiet everything seemed after so much horror and chaos had exploded, it felt almost as if the world had stilled, stopped turning on its axis, ended even. Nothing stirred, not even a breeze, and Yennefer felt something cold and hopeless curl in her stomach, thick like sludge. What if it still wasn’t enough? What if she still wasn’t enough? 

She surprised even herself as she made her way down the damned and destroyed hillside on shaky legs, with how her mind turned and twisted. First, her thoughts, ever trained and shaped, practical, were swept up in Sodden, in Nilfgaard, in war. But as she stepped past armor plating, black even without the soot and char, crippled suns and thorns etched deep, those musings of strategy and outcome were brushed away. It looked like next to no one survived the battle, allies and enemies alike. A stalemate, with costs higher than any stash of coin, steeped in blood and death. 

Tissaia caught in the forefront of her mind, along with Sabrina, Triss, the others. She found herself hoping that even one of them made it out alive, if only so she wasn’t standing alone on the ruined battlefield, a victor with nothing to show for her efforts. 

Then, Geralt. He worked his way into her mind, unrelenting even as she tried to turn to something else. She didn’t need him, didn’t want to need him. Yet, something of him pulled hard at her heart and she felt like crying, for the raw ache that tugged at the seams holding her torn heart together. He was the only one left who could do that to her, who could reach into her chest and take her heart in his hands, do what he pleased with it. Whether to crush it in a brutal fist, or to hold it with so much care it hurt to endure, the choice was his, and Yennefer hated that most. He had sway, had control, and she couldn’t take it from him. Despite what she wished, her feelings were not hers to control, and her traitorous heart clung to the notion of him, longed for him, and she couldn’t even resent him for it. 

Her head hurt. Her chest hurt. Everything hurt, and trekking back to the ruined fortress seemed like such a demanding task, with no magic left at her disposal. The last thing Yennefer needed, the last thing she wanted, was another painful distraction making her weak. 

It seemed like a dizzied illusion, a fever dream, or a trick of the mind when she first saw him. Ducking from behind a splintered, scorched trunk, there was her fate-bound witcher, brows furrowed as he swept his gaze over the ruined landscape. She blinked, once, twice, and pushed the bloodied hair from her face, absently wondering if this was nothing more than the work of a head wound. But even when she shook her head, trying to clear away the cruel dream, he stayed solid, never once flickering at the edges or fading like a whisper of smoke. 

“Geralt,” she called to him, voice raw and hoarse, cracking, breaking, if for no other reason than she was tired and wanted someone to lean on. Of course, there were dozens more reasons to want him close, most of which she wouldn’t care to admit, not even to herself, so she kept them tucked against her heart, hidden. Even if it beat with the echoes of every reined in desire, longing, it was easier to ignore them in her blood than on the tip of her tongue, caged but easily escaping with the slightest slip. 

In an instant, amber eyes, flecked with gold, met violet ones across the wretched landscape, and together, they burned. With shock, with awareness and understanding, with a shared, hollow ache she knew now that they both felt at their cores. Then Geralt was coming her way, taking long, hurried strides, a pale haired child suddenly at his back. In the time it took them to reach her, Yennefer sorted out the tangled mess of emotion that knotted in her throat at seeing him with the child, his child, no doubt. Shock and brief, flaring anger were first among them, as she wondered at his audacity, of avoiding his responsibility to the girl for so long, only to come collect her when convenient. 

But something like relief, blurred together with fondness, fizzled out the fire she felt building. Regardless if it was an action taken too late, he found the child, took responsibility, and just maybe, he listened to and took to heart what she had said to him during that whole mess with the dragon. And when she let out a breath, one she hadn’t realized she had been holding locked in her lungs, she felt more at ease than she had since that day, like something in her chest that had been dislodged finally clicked back into place and let the ache ease. 

“Yennefer.”

The name was laced at the edges with relief, but spoken carefully, formally, like Geralt wasn’t quite sure where he stood. No ‘Yen’, no comfortable, familiar ease. None of the simple luxuries he afforded her that she had come to crave. And, for a stilted beat, he stopped too far away, a handful of paces too many stuck between them. He spared a glance over his shoulder to the girl still trailing at his heels before something resolved flickered through his eyes, hard and steely. The girl only nodded, some unspoken understanding and recognition sparking across her features. 

Before Yennefer could bring herself to reach out, to crack at the iron walls she had built so high, wavering, Geralt made the decision for her. Slow, giving her every opportunity to push him away, to turn and run, he stepped up closer. And with that same ginger care, he wrapped strong arms around her back, pulling her into a tight embrace. 

It hurt.

Not the vengeful throbbing in her head. Not the sear of her fingers. Not even the trembling, breathless ache of her ribs and lungs when she couldn’t bring herself to breathe for too long. But the realization that this was what she wanted, more than anything, more than everything. And in all the lifetimes she had lived, the fleeting moments spent with him were the only ones that truly felt worth living and dying for. 

The tremble in her legs brought her back from her thoughts, exhaustion and much needed relief inevitably catching up to her. Finally, she shifted from where she was rooted in place, dazed, hands skimming up across his chest to take tentative handfuls of the fabric there. She could feel the reassuring rhythm of his heart, hear it, the beat slow and calming as ever. 

“I’ve got you,” he rasped, quiet, against the shell of her ear. 

Like that was all the permission her body needed to crumple against her will, her legs finally gave out, Geralt’s subtly tightening grip and her hold on his shirt the only things keeping her upright. It felt weak, but she couldn’t even bring herself to care. Not right then. Laying her cheek against his shoulder, feeling the humming call of his warmth beneath, she pulled in a steadying breath. Roach’s scent clung to him, as did that of swamp mud, decaying monster flesh, and other things too horrible to pick out, but she settled on the warmth instead, the subtle hints of something earthy and familiar and particular to him. Just as he spoke of her lilac and gooseberries with such heavy emotion, she knew the scent of him by heart, and felt its absence like a carved hollow behind her ribs when it faded from her skin, her clothes, the bedsheets around her. 

“I don’t know if anyone else survived.” The words came on a shuddering breath, before she even thought to say them, wrought free with the emotion and vulnerability she usually kept under lock and key. And further, the gravity in them wrenched something from her chest, turning the delicate blossom of warmth unfurling there frigid. 

“You did. That’s enough,” Geralt assured, even if it wasn’t true at all. His lips brushed her temple, the gesture so soft and intimate that something in her heart twisted with it. “You’re important to me,” he whispered, for her ears only, echoing a sentiment breathed in the drowsy contentment of a night long passed. It wasn’t quite ‘I love you’, but it meant more than those three words ever could. 

For a moment, Yennefer only hummed her assent, shifting, allowing herself to nuzzle into the crook of his neck. “I think you might be important to me, too,” she breathed, eyes fluttering shut for just a few beats. 

But regardless of blooming, nameless emotion, connection, there was still a war. It wouldn’t cease on their wills alone, and no matter how tempting it was to bury herself in that moment, Yennefer knew it wouldn’t last. And that notion gave her the strength to steel herself, and for once, it was not her heart she needed to fortify, but a body pushed beyond its limits. Quelling the subtle shiver still coursing through her, Yennefer stepped back from Geralt only when she was confident she wouldn’t be left crumpled and kneeling in the char and mud. Though, it felt cold without his warmth pressed against her. 

Still, it seemed the world was turning after all, careless to the plights of its people. And as it was, Yennefer found herself alive for another day, if not another lifetime, but the war wasn’t over yet. Life demanded her attention, as it always did, and she settled her heart for the moment, turning her clearing mind to other matters. Matters like the girl politely watching at Geralt’s back, something of a knowing smile subtly pulling at her lips. 

“So this is Yennefer.”


End file.
